


The Doctor's Best Medicine

by konstantinos



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Edgeplay, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konstantinos/pseuds/konstantinos
Summary: The Doctor plays games with the Apprentice.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak & Original Female Character(s), Julian Devorak & You, julian devorak - Relationship
Kudos: 29





	The Doctor's Best Medicine

You kiss him. Where your necks press together, you feel your pulse thrum against his. The drums, slightly out of synch, are the only thing you can hear as your face flushes.

His lips tear at yours, nipping occasionally to your neck until he decides to stay there. They suck at the hot blood running under your skin. More just seems to rush up. Your thoughts fuzz as he pulls harder.

“Julian,” you gasp.

Perhaps this isn’t the best place for this. Perhaps someone will hear you through his window. Perhaps—

His lips latch to the spot under your jaw. Your eyes flutter up; you’ve forgotten what you were worried about.

“I can stop if you want me to,” he says between kisses.

He’s trailing down your collarbone now, untangling one of his hands from the hair now knotted on your neck.

“No… Keep going. Please,” you reply.

His teeth brush against your skin as he smiles, and you suddenly feel like meat. This man is going to eat you, drink up every last drop of you until there’s nothing left. He sets his table, positioning the two of you so that your backs are to the headboard. He snakes one hand around you and rests the other on your thigh closest to him. He slides his hand down further, coaxing your legs to separate further. He guides your leg to rest over his, and you are very aware of the way his hand passes over your lower abdomen to grasp your hip.

After another caress of his lips and a breathy sigh from you, his fingers dart down suddenly, and you feel yourself melt into his palm. You had been pressing into him before, hips desperate to find purchase, but this was the first attention you’d received there in return. It was relief after yearning.   
  
Up and down his fingers go. Your thighs grow hot with expectation, but thoughts blur between his focus on your neck and his nimble hands. A doctor is always careful; his hands can never shake. Precision is his practice, and his expertise is expected from you. He always delivers.

“May I?” He coos in your ear.

Breathless, you shake your head vigorously, leaning into him. One of your hands gives you precarious support while the other twists the sheets into your grasp.

His grin creeps up to his heavy-lidded eyes, and his finger slips into you.

Your eyelids grow heavy too as his finger begins an ice-skating routine— it slides up and around before dipping down and back up again. Graceful and daring, it knows exactly where the slickest part of the rink is and where it will score the most points.

You moan for the first time tonight, the sound involuntarily leaving your lips when you exhale. He laughs under his breath, his nose grazing your ear. His finger begins to move faster while his free hand grabs your jaw and brings your lips to his, though you can barely maintain the kiss— sputtering as he picks up speed. It comes undone, your breath labored and rhythmic with his strokes. He’s rocking your whole body against him and the headboard with each move— your thighs are already beginning to twitch. Your muscles clench, trying to gain some impossible relief. It’s like they’re trying to force the end, to fight against his wishes. It doesn’t do anything but exasperate you, and you figure you’ll only get release from him if you keep going. To stop now would be—

He just hesitated.

You gasp, feeling cool air. Your eyes shooting open as he slows his pace dramatically. One look at him and the shit-eating grin is all you need to know it’s purposeful. In frustration and heat, you throw yourself back against him, head lolling against his shoulder, but his deft hands catch it and bring you to face him.

“I want you to look at me,” he murmurs, and you are in no place to argue. “Will you?”

You nod again softly as you choke down your impulses.

“My dear, you are practically _writhing_ for me, aren’t you?” Your hips press towards his waltzing fingers.

“I suppose we’ll have to deal with that then, hm…?”

You would retort back with something clever. Usually, that’s what you like to do, but the way his fingers hover over where you want him to touch you keeps your words caught in your throat. Some deep urge within you wants to be absolutely obliterated by this man.

Maybe he can read the painful lust in your eyes because he picks up his pace again. But he knows you too well. He keeps you on the edge, always darting just around where you want him to stay or slowing in short bursts— never long enough for you to realize until he’s started up again. By now, he must know you like the tattoo on the back of his hand. The way he distracts you with kisses on your neck whenever he does slow only cements your theory in your mind.

On the third time your thighs begin to shake, he doesn’t seem to stop. Your abdomen clenches.Is this the end? You’re eager to meet the results of his teasing— Based on what you’ve almost felt this far, it should be worth it.

Your head throws back as his fingers move at their fastest. He has you screaming pleas out into the night. He keeps going. Almost laughing, you brace yourself for the finale. But he stops abruptly. Right as you inhale to groan, he grabs your jaw and turns your head to face him.

“Look at me.” His voice is firm.

Mouth agape in expectation, you don’t know whether to beg, cry, or slap him. Luckily for you, his fingers move again, slow and steady. Your thighs fluctuate between wanting to squeeze around his hand and spread as wide as they can. His eyes are locked onto your face.

“I want to see you love me,” he says.

Everything is too much: his grey eyes, his hand on your face, his fingers coming back to ravish you. You convulse; your body racks with ecstasy. His hand doesn’t stop as you shake against him. Your eyes flutter as you cry out his name. The cry for help has transformed into a cry of thanks.

He glides you over your climax and back down into his arms. Exhausted, you collapse into them, swollen lips still heated and vertigo blanketing your vision.

“I love you too.”


End file.
